


BBCSH  'The Day I Was Married'

by tigersilver



Series: BBCSH Shorts [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 12:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigersilver/pseuds/tigersilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gross sentimentality, Sherlock-style, over an important occasion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	BBCSH  'The Day I Was Married'

Author: tigersilver  
WC: 300 /-  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairing: S/J  
Summary: Gross sentimentality, Sherlock-style, over an important occasion.

  
  


BBCSH Shorts II  ‘The Day I Was Married’

It would have helped if John was conscious, the day we married. Or present, at least, but he wasn’t. 

In hospital, naturally. Mycroft arranged it. Of course. I barely had to ask. 

It would have been…good…if he’d woken to the knowledge of it and had been well pleased. I would’ve liked very much to have pleased him. I always do—it feels. It _feels_ , in my chest. In my empty chest. 

Lestrade assures me he’ll ‘get used to it’. That it’s ‘only what he’s expected’ all along, as they all have, down the Yard. But Donovan only glares and mutters when she stops. ( _Why_ so often? Of course…of course. Checkmate, sweet. Piss off.)  About fishing and trainspotting and model areoplane kits. Useless. As if John would bother himself with glue and fidgety bits of plastic rod when there’s the Work. 

It’s Sarah. She’s—they allowed her in first. Allowed her in because she’s a quim and two pillowy breasts and a lavender cashmere cardigan to cover them up in a ladylike manner and she simply _looks_ as though she matches with John. My John.  And I don’t. I don’t look as though I belong to anyone, much less a Doctor John Watson. 

He is mine, though. It’s been sorted, papers signed (forged), stamped and filed, and it’s not being undone that easily. Not by a man stuck in hospital for six more days. Not for twice that number of days or even that number of weeks, counting in red tape and snafus. We’ll likely have a new Prime Minister by the time he’s fully shed of me and that’s more than a bit alright. 

Gives me. Time. What I want. Need. Desire. 

Lets her _out_. Entirely. 

Legality? Ask Mycroft. Not my area. 

  
  



End file.
